


show me the real you (I won't look away)

by Imiaslavie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gentle Kissing, Insecurity, M/M, Pacifist route/Everyone lives, Post-Canon, also Gavin is in this and he does something really cool, they're very much in love okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15166922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imiaslavie/pseuds/Imiaslavie
Summary: The word 'plastic' has always had a funny taste in his mouth. 'Plastic' is cheap cellphones and ugly Barbie dolls and that grey dirty thing in the bathroom that holds the soap.Connor is none of these things.When Hank looks at him, he thinks of porcelain.





	show me the real you (I won't look away)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by lovely writeordiebitch/xxwriter389xx (Tumblr/AO3). Thank you for finding time for my works and for gushing about certain parts of them, it's always so thrilling to wait for your initial reaction <3
> 
> Also, for some fucking reason, I've translated it into Russian. Why? IDK. But here it is - https://ficbook.net/readfic/7080192

If they don't stop staring in the next two or so minutes, Hank is going to deck each one of them. His hands are positively itching to mess up someone's face. Or at least put a bag on their heads so they just would fucking stop staring.

But Hank can't do any of that. Because that would mean moving, and moving would mean leaving Connor’s side. And Connor asked him to stay close and not go anywhere. So Hank stays. 

The word _plastic_ has always had a funny taste in his mouth. _Plastic_ is cheap cellphones and ugly Barbie dolls and that grey dirty thing in the bathroom that holds the soap. It's unpleasant to touch and leaves a distinct smell on your hands that you want to wash off as soon as possible. It breaks easily. 

Connor is none of these things. 

When Hank looks at him, he thinks of porcelain.

Connor’s face is completely void of emotions, almost like he is — and it's so disturbing to use this word even in comparison — deactivated. But his LED is pulsing steadily with yellow and, sometimes, quick flecks of red.

It's the first time Hank sees him without his skin. And he — _he_ has a right to look at him. But those fuckers around, these jerks and snakes wearing a police uniform, Connor's colleagues, how dare _they_ look at him like he is a fucking monkey on display? Hank really thought they didn't care about Connor being an android. Guess he was wrong.

Hank hears a quiet snicker. He lifts his head and meets Chen's gaze. 

“Have something to say?” he asks, crossing his arms. 

Chen snickers again. “No, nothing. Just wondering how does it feel to fondle a piece of—”

“Chen.”

She stops at Hank's deadly cold voice but quickly regains her composure, now with even more passion. “Oh, come on! You can't tell me you're going to kiss,” she makes a vague gesture at Connor's still figure, “ _that_!”

Hank sees red. “Listen here, you little—”

“Hey!” Gavin shouts from his table. “Your face is going to kiss your table if you don't shut up, Chen! People are trying to _work_ here. Actually, I want both of you to shut up. _Thanks_ ,” he adds in the end, the word dripping with venom.

Chen does shut up, thank God for small mercies. Hank catches Gavin's gaze and nods. Gavin scoffs, and if the looks could kill, Hank would drop dead on the spot. Hank only chuckles at that. Gavin has just defended Connor, and they both know that, but if Gavin still has the need to pretend like he would love nothing more than for Connor to perish — whatever. As long as his actions don't actually match his words, they're peachy.

Five more minutes pass by. Connor is perfectly still. That really must be a serious malfunction. And then, finally, his LED goes blue... and he opens his eyes, still glossy and a little bit unfocused, almost like he just woke up. Well, he sort of did. Then the LED flashes pale-yellow for a second, and Hank is once again reminded of how weird and unprecedented Kamski's technology is. The way the skin appears, gliding over Connor's features, the way his hair just comes to be out of nowhere, almost like it's an illusion without any real form or shape. Hank knows it's not true. How many times did he tousle Connor's hair in a playful manner? How many times did his fingers slide through thick incredibly soft strands? How many times did he caress Connor's neck and tickled his fingertips with the short hairs on his nape? Too many to count. Hank _knows_ it's real.

“You okay?” Hank says, donning his coat. Like hell he is going to stay in the precinct today after _that_. Connor just nods, puts on his own coat. He doesn't feel the cold, of course, but he once told Hank that the extra weight of the material feels nice, so the coat it is. 

On the ride home Connor chooses country to listen to, of all things. Hank doesn't object, not today, and when the song that he listened to on TV twenty or something years ago comes on — he even enjoys it.

Connor quietly hums the last lines as they enter the house, something about _country roads taking home_ , a warm smile on his face as he scratches Sumo behind the ears in greeting. Just a picture of serenity. 

Hank calls bullshit.

The LED is yellow.

Connor continues with his after-work routine: feeds Sumo, takes the plates from the dishwasher and puts them near the sink, checks the fridge, goes to the bedroom and comes back in his favourite oversized T-shirt with almost completely washed off image on the front, hops on the couch in hopes that Sumo would put his big head on his knees — the LED stays yellow for the whole time.

Hank Anderson is a patient man. He dislikes unnecessary waste of time, but if something is worth waiting for — he will wait for it. In this case, though… Connor’s well-being is definitely more important than that _let them start the conversation on their terms_ -bullshit philosophy Hank sometimes hears. _Fuck_ that.

Hank sits down on the couch, throws his arm around its back, his palm resting right near Connor’s neck. Okay, okay, one attempt to make Connor start talking, _one_. He always reacts wonderfully to touch. Very instinctively. Maybe it’ll work this time too.

“I heard you earlier at the station.”

Hank’s fingers freeze a mere inch from Connor’s nape. Hank is _so_ having words with Chen tomorrow. Or maybe he’ll just sic Gavin on her. Yeah, definitely.

“Okay,” Hank says, keeping the anger out of his voice. “You realize everything she said is bullshit, right?”

Connor is silent for some time. "You thought it was weird too.”

What? _What_? Fucking _no_. "I thought it was _new_. That’s it.”

Hank expects Connor to bombard him with arguments, with statistics, with examples. Connor is _very_ good at coming up with things that sound smart and convincing. But he just… stays silent, eyes trained on the floor.

Oh, to hell with it.

“Turn it off.”

Connor completely freezes, in that unnatural way only androids can.

“Hank…”

“Come on. Just… do it, okay?”

This time — Hank waits. This time he can afford it. It will be worth it. It must be. He listens to the quiet ticking of the clock, small archaic thing perched near the books on the shelf. He is so concentrated on counting the seconds that he almost misses Connor’s sharp exhale.

The skin disappears, diffuses almost like waves of a mirage. And… yeah. It might be a little weird. But a good weird. Like when someone changes their hairstyle or gets a tattoo across their clavicle or starts wearing contact lenses. It’s just a new detail. It doesn’t matter. Not if you… Well. Feel. In a very special way.

“You think I what, won't recognize you in the crowd?” Hank says. “Recognize your eyes? Or your smile? Or the way you angle your head to the left when you try to go coy on me? Listen.” Hank finds Connor's hand and grips it tight. “If one day you come back home looking like someone else — I won't care, if one day you'd just get stuck like this forever — I won't care.” Connor still doesn't say a thing. Hank goes for a risky jab. “You look too goofy for me anyway.”

And finally, finally Connor lifts his head and _smiles_.

“Do I really?” he says. “In that case, I'm afraid you have a thing for goofy faces. Sometimes it's just one look from me, and you're _ready_.”

And then Connor has the audacity to _give_ him that look, that _Oh, you want to do things to me?_ look, that _I’ll do everything for you_ look, a leering honest thing that always drives Hank mad. And even now, with Connor looking so different, it still sends a wave of heat through Hank's body.

Connor's eyes go wide. “You really are— Even when l—” And then he lets out a short laugh and surges forward and presses his lips to Hank's before the man even has a chance to tell him everything he thinks about his fancy android scanners. 

The kiss feels... Like something new. But also — like all other kisses they had. It's weird, and it's thrilling, and Hank can't stop wondering if Connor being colder than usual is his imagination or not. His lips are smoother, thinner, but they move against Hank's like they always do, eager and gentle, and Hank licks a wide wet stripe across them, and Connor laughs again, tightening his grip on Hank's neck. And like a wild bird, like a hammer's rhythm, there's one thought in Hank's head, over and over again: _I love him, I love him, I love him_ , an endless feeling that comes right from his rapidly beating heart, from the sweet weight in his chest, all-encompassing and deafening and—

“For you,” Connor gasps against Hank's mouth, giving the man a chance to breathe. “This part of me. Only for you.”

And Hank— has no words, nothing that could be enough to show his gratitude for this kind of trust. So he just nods and pulls Connor into a bear hug, hides his face against the smooth white line of Connor's neck. He is beautiful like that. He truly is.

“I'll stay like this for a while longer, okay?” Connor says quietly, nuzzling his face against Hank's shoulder.

“Okay.” And then: “As long as you want.”

And does it matter whether Connor means his skin or his arms weaved tight around Hank?

No, it doesn't.

Not one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea since the short chat I had with deadlilmoon (Tumblr). Before her, I've never even thought about Connor without his skin, especially not about Connor and Hank, ah, doing things while Connor is in his original form. But the second I imagined them kiss like that - it was like a whole new world opening up for me. Because it's not only ungodly hot and thrilling, it also requires a great amount of trust, something they both have in spades for each other.
> 
> Also, I do love my little cameo of Gavin, throwing shade on others in order to protect Connor. Ugh, Gavin, you rock.
> 
> ALSO, this is my first time writing from Hank's perspective. It was... an interesting experience. Thoughts, guys? Did I nail it, did I screw it, did I 'meh' it?
> 
> For those who've read my other DBH works: I have already started on that Connor and Gavin not-quite-friendship fic, but it's becoming bigger and more complex than I originally intended, so I don't actually know now when it'll be ready. But stay tuned, folks! 
> 
> I love you all <3 Your comments are everything to me.


End file.
